


The Snow's Fire

by AtlasofTime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Aged-Up Character(s), BAMF Aegon Targaryen, BAMF Rhaenys Targaryen, Braavos (A Song of Ice and Fire), Daenerys Targaryen Lives, Dragons, F/M, Female Jon Snow, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Protective Robb Stark, Robb Stark is a Gift, Targaryen Restoration, Viserys Targaryen Lives, fostering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasofTime/pseuds/AtlasofTime
Summary: Two motherless children bond in the outskirts of Braavos. Children of ancient dynasties and dark fates, yet masqueraded as a bastard and sellsword son. Their brief meeting has ramifications that affect things they had never dreamed of.Lyarra had no idea her childhood journey across the Narrow Sea would end like this. Years passed, her dreams becoming plagued with fires and shrieks and a mysterious glowing ring around her finger. Yet, she pushes onward, desperately trying to return to the normalcy of Winterfell's life. A life she had left many years before.Little did she know, two siblings across the Narrow Sea were plagued by the same dark dreams, and a solitary sister had found her brother.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Aegon Targaryen (Son of Elia)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 165





	1. Stone-Skipper

**295 A.C**

The sun was setting, the grey building of Braavos cast into the dull light. Glowing torches gave the port city an ethereal look. Wylla and Wynnie were skipping in front of Lyarra, various trinkets dangling from their fingers. 

Lyarra heard slight splashing coming from the sea, a rock skipping across the calm water. The sound was intriguing. So, she looked for the source. Her eyes quickly finding a small figure dressed in all black stood on a lone dock. The fire glaring off the black cloak hid them from view but swayed in the wind.

"Lya, are you coming?" Wynafryd had turned around, large eyes studying her friend.

The younger girl looked between her friend and the mysterious figure. "I'll be right behind you."

A moment of silence, "Alright." 

Lyarra watched as her two friends continued skipping away. The dirt of the stone pathways marring the hems of their dresses. Yet, the two nobles seemed to care naught. The merman children held themselves differently in Braavos than White Harbor. They seemed less restricted and more authentic.

Yet, they left Lyarra all the same. The snow child swiftly made her way to the stone-skipper. The docks were stagnant at this time, most disappearing into the inner city buildings. Though, the child seemed to be skipping rocks. _Not a care in the world, or maybe too many._

The stranger didn't seem to notice Lyarra as she slipped up the lone dock. Her light footfalls echoing against the black sea. Looming overhead, a single ship stood guard. It was old and falling apart; the dark oak planks were rotting. Even from her vantage point, Lya could see the single white sail torn.

A single hand played with the end of her braid. _No threats here_ , Lyarra thought. _I merely want stones for a game with Wynnie and Wylla._

She stood just mere lengths away from the figure. Their black cloak fluttered in the slight breeze revealing a deep red underlayer. Yet, they seemed to be rather focused on the basket of stones. Their deft hands retrieved stones and relinquished them repeatedly. 

"Pardon me, but where'd you get the stones?" Lya's northern tilt was loud in the quiet air.

With a quick snap of fabric, the figure turned around. The child's features betrayed his surprise of encountering an intruder on his dock. 

"Who are you?" He loudly exclaimed, breaking the peaceful atmosphere. His accent was different than any Lyarra had heard before.

Nervously, she took a step back. "Lyarra Snow, my lord. I merely wanted some stones for a friend." She dropped into a curtsy.

The boy seemed to contemplate for a second, allowing Lyarra to examine his features under the firelit dock. Pale blue eyes were narrow and deep in thought. Small pieces of dark blue hair fell into his eyes, and he chewed on his bottom lip.

The child seemed to look behind her to reassure himself before his face broke into a slight frown. "I find them around the beach."

"There's a beach?" Lyarra asked, her violet eyes narrowing.

The boy looked at her incredulously. "We're by the sea."

"But we're in a city."

The boy let out a huff of air. His blue eyebrows furrowing. "Look, Snow, I don't have time to show you where to get stones."

"Please?" Lyarra asked, her gemstone eyes round and begging.

The boy took one look at her, and his cheeks flushed pink. His blue eyes darted around again as he chewed on his lip even harder. 

"Alright, but we must be quick." 

Lyarra's face broke into a giant grin, her eyes shined victoriously. The boy with, another glance around, took her hand. His hand was delicate, but Lyarra could feel the slight ridges of budding callouses.

_'Do not talk to strangers,'_ Ser Wendel's word echoed throughout Lyarra's mind. Yet, as the older boy dragged her along, she felt she could trust no other. _Although, I know, naught about him._

As if the boy could read her thoughts, his gleaming eyes turned to her. "My name is Gryff."

"Gryff..." Lyarra whispered, _no, the name doesn't seem to fit._

The two children did not exchange another word as Gryff pulled Lyarra along the docks. A comfortable silence engulfed them. The patter of their shoes echoing along the warm night. The muffle of the inner city growing quieter as they moved farther away.

The docks stopped appearing, and the path stone seemed more rugged. Lyarra's eyes were glued to her feet to make sure she did not trip. The boy, however, seemed to know the way by heart. His feet dancing around the holes and skipping over the larger rocks.

The dark-haired child still clung to his hand. The anchor between the two, and to make sure she keeps up. The older boy's hand seemed familiar in a way.

_He acts kind of like Robb_ , Lyarra recalled her older brother. His pleasant auburn curls and freckled face. The way he had sobbed when Lyarra left for the Manderlys mere moons ago.

"You're thinking too loud." A sharp voice cut interrupted her thoughts.

Lyarra gazed up to Gryff, her eyes narrowed. "I don't believe I stated anything."

"Yet, I heard you all the same."

Their once breakneck pace was slower now. The children were approaching a tall wall of pale grey stone. Ivy grew up the wall, an intricate necklace hanging.

Mere feet away from the wall, Gryff drew them to stop. He abruptly abandoned Lyarra's hand. Before kneeling, the soil marring his dark pants. 

"Do you think you can fit through that?" He pointed to a shallow hole at the base of the wall. Small enough for a child to climb through.

With a nod, Lyarra kneeled beside him, her cream gown becoming beige. The boy turned to her with a beautiful smile, a dimple appearing on his left cheek. 

"I shall go first and then drag you after." 

Without confirmation, the boy crawled through the hole. His worn leather shoes leaving indents in the rough ground. Scuffling was heard before a pale hand shot through the hole.

Lyarra quickly dropped to her stomach, grimacing as the dirt seeped into her dress. Yet, she reached for the boy's hand. Gryff's hand enveloped hers as he dragged her body, his hand burned within her own.

The rough rocks scratched Lyarra's pale skin, yet the view was worth the travail. As she stood up on the other side, the lands were flat, and the sky was blacker than pitch. A million stars lit up the sky and illuminated the flat land.

The saltiness of the ocean soared through Lyarra's noise, and the gentle lull of the waves was a roar here. The beach was breathtaking and so close. The sand was as white as her dress and the water black from the shadows.

"Do you like it?" 

The question brought her attention back to the boy accompanying her. His blue eyes appeared purple in the dark, and they were locked onto Lyarra. Their gaze sending tumbles along the girl's stomach.

"I don't believe I have seen anything more beautiful," Lyarra answered softly.

A loud laugh erupted from the boy, the sound causing Lyarra's cheeks to turn bright pink. However, when she looked at the boy, he did not seem malicious like Theon. Gryff's eyes shined with joy, and the wide grin was still ever-present.

"And yet, we came here just for stones."

At his words, the two children began collecting stones along the rocky beach. The warm water lapped at their feet, and the sand slipped into their shoes. Though, the children cared naught, small hands greedily reaching for every stone.

Like an unspoken agreement, Gryff took the stones and put them in his pockets. The light material began to bulge from the weight. But they kept gathering, the dark atmosphere calming in the wild world, a slice of peace in the worlds they were both subjected to.

At least it was until an accented voice interrupted it, "So, you're a bastard?"

Lya jumped, the question stark in the once peaceful air. "Aye. Is that a problem?" Violet eyes narrowed at the boy.

Gryff seemed taken back, his ivory hands raising in defense. "No. I just have never met a northern bastard before." The Snow was still glaring at him. "Are you of noble birth?"

"Aye. My father is Lord Stark." Lyarra's answered proudly before her eyes became downcast. "Though I know naught about my mother."

Gryff stifled a gasp at the mention of her father's name. "Usurper's dogs," he muttered. Yet, when he looked at the small Snow child in front of him, he did not see a dog. He saw something else.

Noticing the girl's downcast eyes, pulled on something with Gryff's heart, a feeling that was unfamiliar to the young boy. "I do not have a mother either," his voice was soft and almost carried away by the wind.

Yet, Lyarra heard him all the same. Her eyes pulled to his; dark purple met periwinkle. A small smile twisted the pale girl's lips. Her eyes shined with an expression that Gryff was rarely subject to. Comfort.

The girl walked closer to him. Her cream dress dirty and ragged, but her face clear and shining. She stopped a foot away from him. Her dark eyes looked up to him through darker eyelashes.

A cold hand touched his burning shoulder. "I believe where ever your mother is, she would be watching over you."

Those words were uttered to him endlessly throughout his ten and three namedays. The kind eyes of Septa Lemore and Older Gryff, as they told him, compared naught to the sincerity pouring from the stranger before him. For a moment, Gryff could believe that his mother was watching him, and maybe she was proud too.

His head raced with a million thoughts, and his eyes watered. The hand never let his shoulder, and the cold seeped through his clothes. A burning sensation that kept him grounded. Grounded enough to look down at the younger girl, her face wearing a small smile.

"Thank you." The words rang loud in the quiet night.

After their exchange, the two stood like that for a while. A snow child comforting a griffin, and the start and end of something new for them both.

  
  



	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of losing a new friend and finding hope within old ones.

The wind whipped past Lyarra, her elbows leaning against the bow of the Manderly ship. The sky was as grey as Lord Stark’s eyes, and the drizzle of rain matted ebony locks. The snap of the merman’s sails echoed across the choppy sea, the sound echoing back like the cry of a lonesome wolf. 

Small ivory hands fiddled with a ring. Too big for adolescent fingers, but pretty enough to put on a chain to dangle along her collarbone. Intricate in craftsmanship, the ring was fine silver. A silver that reminded Lyarra of the roots of Gryff’s hair and brought tears to haunting eyes. She clasped a hand around the ring, the metal stabbing delicate hands. 

_ I wonder what he’s doing now _ , the thought echoed. Never leaving the snow’s mind, as she had never meant to leave him on the dock, hopeful with the promise of tomorrow.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Desperately she tried to rid herself of the memory. However, wherever she looked, it would bring memories of their fleeting friendship. The red of the gemstone on his ring reminded her of the inside of his black cape. Even the Old Gods cursed her with the melancholy weather, reminding her of her friend’s tendency to stare into the clouds and forsake everything.

_ It was only two days, yet it seems like a lifetime. _ Lyarra remembered how they had gathered stones under the stars. Those stones now decorated the floor of her cabin with Wylla and Wynnie. She remembered the look on her Ser Wendel’s face when she appeared at the dock at the hour of the wolf. His eyes were terrified, and the grip on her arm burned as she got dragged back into the ship. The tear-streaked faces of Wylla and Wynnie, their fear for her endearing, but the guilt ate away at the stomach.

Guilt that would fade as her mind drifted to a dimpled smile. She had never had a friend that was nice without obligation.  _ At least not a boy that didn’t tease me for my birth _ . 

She remembered the way Ser Wendel instructed her to stay on the ship the next day. The way she begged Wylla and Wynnie to help her to escape to the stone pathways of Braavos. Their smirks and prodding questions about her blue-haired friend. 

Nevertheless, they agreed to assist their friend. After their aspirating questions, they helped her. Wynnie and Wylla’s fake gagging as they complained of the sickness from the Braavos air. Wylla’s quick wink as the shipmen were at a loss with their liege’s daughters. The stains that now marred their tailored dresses from their fraudulent sickness.

_ Her friends were willing to trick their guards for a bastard. _ The thought melted Lyarra’s heart. A heart that melted even more when she saw who was standing by the dock. His black cloak of the hitherto night was absent. The hood no longer hid his ivory face. Loose blue waves hung to his chin, and the crown of his head glowed silver in the sun. 

Yet, Lyarra could still recognize his ample smile. Beautiful blue eyes contrasted with darker blue locks. His accented voice, calling her name as he saw her. For a moment, she wondered if she looked as different as he hid. Her tailored gown of the night before was ruined; instead, she was enveloped in a ragged dress with crooked stitches. Though his eyes only stayed to her eyes, and as he grabbed her hand, she knew he cared naught for what she wore. 

A small smile found her face as the rain mixed with her tears. Yesterday had been splendid but ended too soon. 

Her hand resting against the bow could still feel the ghost of his presence. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she could almost imagine them back at the market again. The way he dragged her to the various market stalls and the quick foreign language that left his mouth eloquently.  _ Bastard Valyrian _ , Lyarra understood as Gryff whispered translations in her ear.

She remembered the eery final stall they visited. Lyarra recalled the tall silver-haired woman behind the dark wood of the stall and her all-knowing smirk. Golden eyes that roamed over her and Gryff as if they were the mice to a cat. Her bastard valyrian sounded different than all the others, more opulent and formal. 

Though, Gryff did not seem perturbed by the woman. Lyarra’s desperate pullings away from the market did not sway the boy from his place. He had scoured the various trinkets littering the table. Until a slight gasp left his mouth, and his hand abandoned Lyarra’s to snatch something up. A quick sentence of valyrian sprung from his lips, and the merchant gave a quick nod.

Lyarra remembered the strain of her feet to stand on her tippy toes to eye Gryff’s chosen trinket. She remembers her dark eyebrows shooting up as she spotted the ring held delicately between his fingers. The silver of the intricately braided band was gleaming then, and it still gleamed in her fingers now. The gemstone that sat lavishly in the middle shone as if it captured fire itself. 

The way Gryff had turned to her, his face beaming with pride. The way he had asked her if she liked it, the way his face allowed no room for her to say no. Or to beg him not to spend money on her. She had nothing to give. She was a bastard. 

However, Gryff had no time for her complaints. The sharp glare of his kind eyes as she insisted he not waste his coin. The lilted chuckle from the pale-headed merchant as Gryff bartered for the ring. In the end, Lyarra watched with astonishment as the blue-haired boy emptied his leather coin purse in the woman’s hand.

She recalled the way he had picked up a thin silver chain and pulled it through the ring before clasping it around her neck. The way his hand moved her thick hair off her neck, so unlike the way Robb used to yank it. Lyarra could still feel the weight of the merchant’s gaze as Gryff clipped her necklace. The way a narrow golden eye gave her a wink.

_ “Do enjoy your peace, your excellencies.”  _

The haunting words of the merchant still echoed around her head. Yet, Gryff did not seem bothered. His hand took hers and led her away from the merchant and into the intricate pathways of Braavos. The grey stone houses that lined the roads were so different from the settlements in the North.

She remembered his crestfallen face as she said she had to go back to the ship. His rosy lips downturned, and his eyes downturned. Nevertheless, he had taken her hand and led her back to the docks. Their journey was tainted by feelings of despair. She was forever grateful for the overlook of the tears that stained her cheeks.

Instead, as they stood by her dock, she slipped the only belonging she had in her name off. A delicate blue and silver threaded bracelet that her father swore was hers since birth. Lyarra remembered the pink of Gryff’s cheeks as she retied the bracelet around his wrist. Her hand gripped his for just a touch longer than necessary.

_ “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gryff.” _

She remembered the way his hair smelt of cinnamon as she whispered that in his ear. His arms wrapped around her waist, and the feel of silky hair tickling her arms.  _ The first time I hugged a boy that wasn’t family _ , Lyarra had mused. 

The bastard had remembered looking over her shoulder as she left her friend. His ivory hand enthusiastically waving back and forth, a wide grin painted his face. That was the last memory of him. Lyarra could taste her salty tears at the thought.

Her eyes still ached from the crying of last night. The way Ser Wendel had come back from his meeting, not long after Lyarra had snuck back in. His plump face wearing a wide grin and blue eyes shining. He spoke animatedly to the shipmates about the trading deal he had brokered with the Sealord of Braavos. 

Lyarra’s cheeks had ached from faking happiness for Ser Wendel until she had the opportunity to break. Her feet slammed against the wooden floors as she fled to her cabin. She could hear the echoes of Wylla and Wynnie following after her, desperate to comfort their friend.

Their soft hands ran through her hair as she sobbed. Lyarra saw the gentle smile of Wynnie as she wiped away the younger girl’s tears. Wylla’s encouraging questions as Lyarra sobbed out her feelings. The three of them had fallen asleep entwined that night. Warmth still budded in Lyarra’s chest as she thought about it. 

“Lya, your sadness is making the sky weep,” A sharp voice roused Lyarra from her thoughts. 

Dropping the ring, Lyarra looked over her shoulder. Her two best friends were making their way across the deck. Wynnie’s sleek brown hair was plastered to her pale skin, pieces sticking to her collarbone. Wylla was hopping next to her, long greenish hair sticking to her elbows. Both had their blue eyes narrowed against the rain.

“Yeah, Ara, make it stop raining.” Wylla plopped her elbows on the bow next to Lyarra.

Wynnie leaned next to the black-haired girl on the other side. The scent of seafoam soared within her nose. Seafoam reminded both girls of the craggy shores of White Harbor.

A deep sigh left Lyarra, “I believe that may be impossible.”

Sisters shared a glance before they both placed a hand on Lyarra’s shoulders. Wylla’s hand gripped the cloth of Lyarra’s dress and tightened it into a fist. Whereas Wynnie gently caressed her shoulder, the act of a mother.

“I am sure you’ll forget about him,” Wylla commented. Her smile wide and compassionate. 

However, when Lyarra heard her words. A disgruntled noise left her mouth, and another tear fell down her cheek. One that was quickly wiped away from her cheek by Wynafryd.

Blue eyes glared at her younger sister. “Wylla meant to say, you have name-days ahead of you. You are only two and ten; many more friendships are to be had.”

The four and ten heiress was right, Lyarra knew. Yet, something scratched in the back of her mind. Gryff was something else, a piece that felt missing. Two days had felt like lifetimes, though Lyarra knew her friends would not understand.

“Aye, there might be some truth to that,” Lyarra replied, desperately begging her voice to not crack.

At her reply, the bastard feigned ignorance to the smiles that graced both Manderlys’ faces. The three stood in comfortable silence. The only sound being the crash of waves against the hull and the whipping sound of wind against the waves. Dark grey clouds hung low in the sky, a gloomy day at sea, it seemed.

The melancholy atmosphere made it that much harder for Lyarra to realize that Braavos was over. The next stop was White Harbor, where Lord Manderly would dote over his grand-daughters before their journey to Winterfell. She was to be in Winterfell in a few moons, a name-day older than she was previously. 

Winterfell brought back memories of her Lord Father. The man’s cold grey eyes assessed her differently than her siblings. Her brother, Robb, would be so happy to see his sister again. He had never treated her differently for her bastard status. Lya recalled the moment her brother punched Theon for calling her a bastard. Her protector is what he is. 

_ Hopefully, Lady Stark doesn’t kick me out of my own feast _ . The red-headed lady always held a vendetta towards little Lyarra. She still remembered the back-hand she had received after calling her mother. 

At the dark turn of her thoughts, the sky became darker. The rain began falling harder now. The girls’ dresses began getting sprayed by waves. Shrieks started coming from the mouths of the Manderly’s. The snap of shipmates pulling sails echoed across the deck.

“Anyone want to go play in our cabin?” Wylla’s questioned. 

Lyarra and Wynafryd shared a glance and nodded. Before they took off across the deck, water splashing from their footfalls. 

“You cannot just start a race like that!” Wylla shrieked before racing after the two.

Their light laughs ripped across the dark sky. An echo of youth contrasted greatly with the hardened faces of the shipmates. Small hands pulling up the hatches to the inner level were done childishly and quick. Whereas Ser Wendel was desperately holding down their Merman sail as the sea tried to claim what is believed to be hers.

Childish jokes and giggles followed the girls all the way to their cabin. A trail of water followed them like a shadow. As they ripped open their door, the ship rocked. Sending all the girls in at once, they landed in a giant mound of limps and fabric.

“I think I landed on your brush, Wylla.” Wynnie bemoaned, desperately trying to reach the object sticking into her back.

“I do believe that may be my foot,” Lyarra groaned. 

A loud shriek of laughter peeled from Wylla. The two elder girls started to laugh as well. The mix of pain and hilarity brought an onslaught of hysterics to the group of young girls.

While lying in that pile of limbs. The laugh of her friends, more like sisters, echoing against the wooden walls of their cabin. Lyarra freed her two arms and brought them to fiddle with the ring hanging from her neck. The fire-made stone glowed in the dull light; a feeling of happiness coursed through her. 

_ Perhaps I will see him again. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support on the last chapter! I've been convinced to continue the story. Though it might take turns that are unprecedented from my first drabble, I'll try my best to make a concise story. This is my first time writing at this scale, so do bear with me as I learn the ropes.


	3. A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day within the present.

**299 A.C**

_She did not see him again._

Many name-days had passed since her journey to Braavos with the Manderlys, four to be exact. Her six and ten nameday occurred some days ago. They had held a meager feast; the gifts from her youthful siblings decorated her modest room. 

Robb's present had been her favorite gift. A smile still graced her face as she thought of the bastard sword he had gifted her. Mikken had forged the iron blade into something lethal. However, the pommel was a thing of beauty. Lyarra recalled making fun of Robb's attempts of wood carving, but his craftsmanship now was breathtaking. The hilt was black as pitch until the end, where a carving of a white wolf's head sat.

Though, she favored her eldest brother's gift. Lyarra was not any less grateful for the gifts given to her. Sansa's exquisite gown of Myrish silk that Lyarra had delicately folded into her chest, or Arya's crude sculpture of a wolf. Bran's drawing of them climbing walls together was endearing as well. Baby Rickon had just babbled a happy name-day, but Lyarra was grateful for her siblings.

The meager feasts celebrating her nameday were amicable in comparison to the one Lord Manderly threw for her. Every year, Wynafryd and Wylla had conned their grandfather into throwing an extensive feast for their foster sister. The Lord of the Harbor then invited more people than Lya could count. The bastard thought fondly of those times when she was not scorned for walking their halls.

Her last name-day was the first in five years she was not with Wynnie and Wylla. Their father had kept them in White Harbor due to their pending _betrothals_. A snort left Lyarra's nose at the thought of Wynnie getting betrothed. The brunette was too intelligent to allow her father to pick a spouse for her. 

They had both sent her a letter for her name-day. A small package was clutched in the raven's talons as well. The gift box contained a threaded bracelet of Manderly colors and the words _Forever A Mermaid_ engraved in a metal plate held by the braids. Lyarra remembered weeping as she saw those words.

She also recalled the words in Wynafryd's perfect script, ' _You must try that ring on now, darling.'_ Yet, Lyarra did not dare to put the ring full of promise on her thin fingers. The glow of the gemstone had dulled in years, and so did Lyarra's hope of seeing her friend. To remove the chain from her neck, the very one he clasped, would be the voice of finality that she dared not to listen to. 

A loud knock rang at her door. "Lyarra, are you brooding again!"

Lyarra dropped the ring from her hands, the ring bouncing against her collarbone as the chain caught it. Sitting up from her bed, she was met with a familiar sight. Robb Stark, in all his heir's finery, stood in her room. The door wide open behind his back, allowing the creep of a North chill to escape into her room.

Exasperated, she palmed her face. "Robb, if you're going to come in. The least you could do was shut the door."

With a loud thud of the door shutting, Robb kicked the door with his heel. Then strode to the small wooden chair in front of Lyarra's desk. He threw his body into the chair; the creak of wood straining was audible across the room. 

"Sister, I forbid you from feigning sickness to get out of lessons again." A freckled hand ran through auburn curls. "Maester Luwin and Father are causing my hair to grey."

He leaned forward, a palm of red hair shoved close to Lyarra. "Look! Do you see them?"

Lya glanced at her brother's palmful of hair. The curls looked perfectly red to her. If anything, they were frizzly from his sword practice this morning. 

"Brother, I do not see any greys." A smile graced the young woman's face. "Perhaps it is your vision that is failing."

At her reply, Robb's face lit up. His freckled cheeks turned a delightful pink and his pointed nose scrunched with joy. A deep laugh came from his chest, and he acted out a hand motion to represent a great victory.

"I knew I could get you to stop brooding!" Lyarra chuckled at her brother's words.

"Arya bet me her desserts that I could not get you to stop brooding." Robb let out an arrogant laugh, "She should not bet against the master of making Lyarra happy."

Violet eyes rolled. "Perhaps I shall go back to brooding then."

Her comment earned her a threaded square to her face. Robb glared at her with his robin egg eyes. Yet, his thin lips betrayed the small smirk that fought its way to his sun-kissed face.

"I am serious, Lya, you have done nothing but broad since your nameday." Robb scratched his nonexistent beard. "Woe to the man you end up betrothed to."

It was the bastard's turn to throw a feathered pillow at the Heir of Winterfell. The pillow was sent with another force to rock the rickety old chair to its back legs. The Stark son desperately lurched forward to not end up on the ground.

"You should really get to training. One would think you're as old as Nan," Robb snickered as he held the cream pillow between his hands. 

"You're so annoying."

"Now, that was harsh!" Robb surged up from his seat and grasped Lyarra's hand. "We're going to train."

"I hate you," Lyarra grumbled as she was dragged out of her room. 

"Shhhh, we're going to have fun." 

Robb dragged her through the narrow stone hallway that her room was situated in. Far away from the Family Wing and near the servant's chambers. The dark hallway used to terrify the girl when she was little. Now it was a welcomed solitude from the scorning people, excluding her brother, who annoyed her every given opportunity.

Robb got curtseys from every servant they passed. Though, Lyarra could see their narrowed eyes as they landed on her lean form. Their negative attitude towards everything she has done, even the way she dressed, upset the maids. She knew her look today would earn more glares than usual. Tight black breaches and a loose grey tunic that Robb had outgrown moons ago, a sword clutched in her hand. One that she desperately swept up while being pulled from her quarters.

 _I pray we do not run into his lady mother,_ Lyarra thought as she looked at the auburn-haired teen. _Lady Stark would blame me so corrupting her son with my nefarious bastard ways._ Yet, he was the one that always barged into her rooms. An act that had always landed the Snow into doing ridiculous chores.

Nevertheless, she was again being pulled by her eldest brother into sword training. She remembered the day he came marching into her room, sword in hand and scowl on his face. _"Theon keeps going to the brothel during training, so you're going to help me."_ He had thrown her the squid's sword, almost slicing her face off in the process. The sword was too long for her, yet they had trained regularly for moons. 

Lyarra was now proficient with a sword. The shorter length of hers allowed for her to be quick, and sometimes she even beat Robb. Not that he would ever admit it.

Lost in her thoughts, she abruptly slammed into Robb's back. Her nose tingled from the force. She peered around his shoulder to see what had caused the hasty halt in his pulling. 

"Where are you going?" A high-pitched voice questioned.

Arya stood with her thin arms crossed. Big grey eyes narrowed at her two elder siblings. 

Before Lyarra could tell Arya the truth, Robb blurted out, "We are to see Maester Luwin for our lessons."

Lyarra withheld a punch to the back of her brother's head, while Arya's eyes narrowed on the sword hanging from the elder sister's hand. A sword that Lyarra desperately wanted to use to get Robb to stop ranting about their nonexistent lessons.

"Lya has a sword," Arya deadpanned.

Robb sprang around with wide eyes. "Sister, why do you have a sword?" His pathetic act of mummery not convincing either of his sisters.

"For the Old God's sake, Robb," Lyarra muttered under her breath. "Robb and I shall go to Godswood to spare." The ebony-haired girl kneeled in front of the younger child.

"Can I come?" Arya asked. Her grey eyes were wide and hopeful.

"Of cour-"

"No, you shan't hold a sword until you can thread a needle without bleeding," Robb interrupted Lyarra, his lordly voice in play.

The elder girl glared daggers up to Robb. Reaching for Arya's small hands, a gentle smile graced her narrow face. A smile she hoped would calm the ire that now painted the Underfoot's face. 

"I am going to tell Father," Arya announced. Her small hand curling into a fist in the bastards. 

A look of fear settled on both the eldest siblings' faces. Their Lord Father had not taken the news of Lyarra's sword lessons lightly. If Lyarra thought hard enough, she could still see the red welts across Robb's palms from his punishment. At Lady Stark's urging, Lyarra had been banned from the dining hall for a moon. The punishment was an incident both teens were looking to avoid.

"I shall give you all the desserts tonight," Robb begged. 

Lyarra glanced at him before giving another offer. "I shall do your chores for the rest of the week."

Arya glanced between the two of them. Her head slowly bobbed into a nod of acceptance. A smirk danced across the ten nameday old's face, a look that Lyarra calls Arya's _I won_ face.

"Good!" Arya laughed. Before she pulled her hands away from Lyarra and skipped away. The walk of a victory.

Quickly standing up, Lyarra glared at her brother. His face held a sheepish grin and his shoulders shrugged. The teen had doubled her chores for her brother to not get punished again. Yet, it was his fault in the first place.

"Before you beat me with a sword." Robb glanced around. "Let us go to the Godswood where we're even."

With a sharp nod, the two had set off to the most secluded area of Winterfell. The fortress was bustling with servants and children playing in the light snow of the hitherto night. The sharp neighs of the huntsmen horses echoed across the stone walls, and the quick chatter of Northern citizens hummed.

However, the bustling nature dispersed as they walked in the Godswood. Trees soaring higher than Winterfell sprouted thickly along with the hard soil. A small pool of water that one could see their reflection in was nestled at the roots of the Weirwood. A tree that was white as bone and its branches were full of leaves as red as blood. The air felt thick as it always did in the sacred area.

Lyarra stood in the position, her knees slightly bent and feet aligned with her shoulders. Her bastard sword gripped in her right hand, and her left hand was fisted, fingers tapping a light beat on her palm. 

Robb assessed his eldest sister. A small hum of acceptance left his mouth before he unsheathed his sword. The sharp sound echoed across the quiet woods. The gleaming blade was a longsword, and the pommel was grey. Deadly, like its wielder.

"Let's begin, sister."

Lyarra had no idea how long they trained, but she knew how the dirt felt in the Godswood. Or how her arms burned with the strain of dealing and blocking blows. Her once black outfit was riddled with dirt stains, and her face had streaks of dirt. Black hair stuck to her forehead, yet a smile was ever-present. 

When violet eyes turned to her brother, he looked no better. The cloak that once graced his shoulders was disregarded. His grey and cream tunic was soiled and stained. Once bouncy auburn curls were matted and stuck to his freckled face. Sky-like eyes were currently trained on his sister, who was sprawled on the ground. Whereas, he had sat down near the Weirwood, the whitebark digging sharply into his back.

"You're getting better," Robb complimented, rubbing a forming bruise across his forearm.

Lyarra flipped to her stomach, her elbows propping her up on the cold ground. "Or you're just getting worse."

"I would have you know that-"

"Robbert Stark, you mustn’t be late for supper!" The sharp tilt of Lady Stark ricocheted off the cold air.

The siblings shared a fearful glance. Robb promptly stood, his body turning to face the fast approaching footfalls. Lyarra scurried off, her feet crunching on the brittle ground. The bastard did not stop until she was thoroughly covered by the underbrush, her sword lying at her feet.

Violet eyes watched as Lady Stark appeared. A soft grey cloak billowing behind her, and her womanly body was clad in a pale grey dress embroidered with dire wolves. Weirwood-like hair fell in a braid to her elbows, and matching eyebrows were furrowed at her eldest child. Her mouth curved into a line of displeasure.

"You mustn't get so dirty before supper." Sharp eyes appraised her child. "Lessons with Maester Luwin must be superior to your playing with swords."

"Yes, mother," Robb atoned.

A nod. "Good, now come along. We must get you cleaned up."

The bastard watched from the shadows as the two walked out of the Godswood. Robb had grown to be as tall as his mother; their matching hair dulls in the low light. Nevertheless, Lyarra recited the Great Houses of Westeros while waiting to leave. The servants would talk if they saw her leave right after the lady and her son.

Minutes later, she slinked off to her quarters. Contrary to Catelyn's belief, the bastard did have standards, so she cleansed and changed before arriving in the Dining Hall. Not that it mattered as she sat far from the raised dais and with the servant's children. Children that screamed and grabbled with each other, cheeks fat with the Cook's treats.

Her eyes drifted to the dais, Sansa sitting primely. _Such a fine lady for so young._ Her polite smile as the servers filled her plate with lemon bars. Arya sat bored and messing with Bran, who kept looking towards the door. Rickon sat on his lady mother's lap, his face stained with Gage's pie. To Lady Stark's right sat Robb, his face lordly a mirror to the man that sat beside him. Lord Stark was smiling fondly at his children, a smile that he never gave Lyarra.

Shaking the thought from her head, Lyarra stood from the table. She told the children they may have her sweets before she left the dining hall. The rumble of talking quieted as she reached her secluded room. A room where she would soon fall into sleep and dreams of what could have been.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main events are occurring later in this story because I would like slightly aged-up characters. Thank you for reading!


	4. Wolf Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and wolves.

_"Mother!"_

A gasp shot from the adolescent girl as she reeled off her bed. Teardrops welled in lustrous eyes as her breathing slowed. Tears that fell from the disparity her dream caused. _Dark flames and the cries of a wolf, the echo of times past._

"Wolves are not creatures of fire..." Lyarra's voice was soft but echoed along with the night air.

The mere thought of wolves and fire brought her attention to her Aunt Lyanna. _The Dragon Prince had captured her long ago._ The tales haunted the wilds of the North even now, almost twenty years later. King Robert still held a grudge against the _dragon-spawn_ if the flutterings of servants could be trusted.

Yet, in Lyarra's dreams, the fires surrounded the wolves. Protecting from something, perhaps winter, Father always says _winter is coming._ Though there were cries, she did not recognize that plagued her dreams. Screeches that shook the ground and bloodied her ears. Her heart still thumped, and her blood roared as they echoed in her mind.

"Lyarra, it is just a dream," She muttered to herself. "Thou cannot be hurt by mere dreams."

Nevertheless, her mere words were not enough to lull her back to sleep. Dragging herself out of her bed, she pulled on a dark cloak and dress. The thick fur enveloping her small form, and the fur-trimmed hood hid her face. Slowly, she made her way into Winterfell's halls.

As she stepped outside, a gust of wind chilled by the North blew her cloak. The sky was overcast; dark fluffy clouds cast out the sun like a bastard child. Lya pulled her veneer tighter with fingers red from the influx of temperature. The winds were brisker than usual. 

_Indeed, winter is coming,_ the dark-haired bastard thought. Her footsteps crunched on the frosted ground as she walked the dining hall. She could have taken the stone hallways of the keep to the dining hall, yet she loved the crisp northern air that soared through her nostrils.

The courtyard was quieter than most mornings. Lord Stark had gone to behead a deserter with her brothers and _Theon._ How her Lord Father had invited the wolf-like squid to the event was beyond her. She could recall the gruff decline of his mood when she had asked to go. A frown pulled at her rosy lips.

She shook the sullen reflections from her head and resumed her trek to the dining hall. The smell of food wafted through the cold air, and she let her nose guide her to the delicacies. Within the dining hall, she had rested away from the dias again. Servants and Lady Stark had vacated the room before her arrival, yet anxiety clawed still at her stomach.

Lyarra preferred the dining hall empty than bustling during feasts. The quiet allowed her to ponder her thoughts. _Brood is what Robb would call it._ Though, Lyarra just believed her brother to be too bull-headed to think over his actions.

A small smile painted her face as she thought of the times her brother did not contemplate his actions, which was often. Mere days ago, he had taken the blame for Arya putting horse dung in Sansa's bed. _As if Lady Stark would ever believe he had done that_. The only thing that came from his so-called valiance was he and Arya both got punished. Lyarra could recall their non-stop chores for the subsequent days.

Her finger fiddled with the ring that always hung from her neck. The once dazzling orange shone dull and grey. The farther time passed from the day she left Braavos, the paler it got. The once gleaming chain was grey and muted. Lyarra was fearful that it would break from her neck soon. The ring would then be lost forever.

 _"If you placed it on your finger, that would not happen," a voice mused in her head._ Lyarra dropped the ring abruptly. She did not like the voices that plagued her mind at times. The idea of insanity was a concept she would not like to live. 

_The past King was mad, and people claimed he heard voices._ A shiver ran down her spine. Lyarra has listened to the stories of his crazed purple eyes and green flames. Yet, she was from the North that dragon-blood did not lay in her bloodline.

 _Purple eyes must be from the Daynes._ The rumors had sprung around her since she was little. The way her Lord Father had fallen for Lady Ashara, her believed to-be mother. Yet, if Lyarra believed rumors, her mother had died from her birth.

 _Just another motherless child in the world is what I would be_ , Lyarra thought. Her mind drifted to a face blurred by time. All she could recall of her Braavos friend was blue curls and a dimpled smile. _Though I do recall, he was motherless like I._

The young woman had halted her meal. Instead, the food had gone cold. And her violet eyes were glazed over as she stared off into the distance. Thoughts were swirling around her mind.

Ultimately, her peace did not last long. "Mother, Lyarra, Arya, Sansa!"

Lyarra snapped to attention from her younger brother's voice, the stone walls muffling it. With a sigh of annoyance, Lyarra discarded her half-full plate and went to find her family. It was rare for them to be called together, not with Lady Stark's abhorrent glares at her.

Though when she walked into the brisk Northern air, she could see what provoked such urgency. The party must have arrived back from the beheading. Lord Stark's valyrian blade still tinged with the red of blood, yet a hesitant smile graced his face. His grey eyes stared at his two eldest sons, their hands full of squirming fur.

As Lya drew closer, she could even see a bundle of fur in Theon's arms. His lean face joyful as he laughed. Lady Stark was staring at her husband disapprovingly, but even her eyes shined with humor. Sansa and Arya had joined them as well, their youthful eyes shining happily. They stood a pretty painting within the atmosphere of Winterfell.

Though Lyara only stood mere footfalls away from their painting, she had never felt more alone. _Direwolves_ . That is what they had found after the beheading. One wolf for each of the Stark children, but none for her. Her heart ached at the thought of not being a true Stark. _Perhaps the Old Gods frown upon bastards as well._

"Mother, we found one for each of the Stark siblings," Robb explained, animatedly cuddling the two within his hands. The darker grey one almost seemed to meld into his clothes, where the other growled and squirmed. 

Bran had only one within his hands. A pup that whined but was the color of fresh autumn leaves. Mottled grey and brown fur that matched the wolves running through the Wolfwood. _A flash of autumn within Winterfell walls._

"Sansa, this one's for you." Theon handed the red-headed child a cream and light grey pup. 

Sansa's face shone as she took the pup. Its soft cry instantly stopped as she cradled it. Blue eyes welled with tears as she thanked her father and mother endlessly. 

"Arya, this is yours." Robb placed a grey and white pup in the young girl's arms.

The pup's growling that took place within Robb's arms had stopped within Arya's arms. The brown-haired child nuzzled her new pup; a pink tongue came out to lick her cheek.

"Cat, even little Rickon has a pup." Ned Stark held up the black pup within his arms. A soft growl emitted from the fluffy beast.

Lady Stark's hands came to rub her temples. A light sigh escaping from her thin lips. Squeezing her eyes shut, she slowly reopened them. A look of defeat crossed her bright blue eyes.

She faced her five eager children. "The wolves are your responsibility. They sleep and eat within the kennel. Training is up to you," She atoned before walking back within the castle's walls. 

"Aye, children, you may keep the wolves." Ned Stark followed his wife back into the castle. The black pup still tucked into his chest.

Lyarra watched as her siblings cuddled with their newfound pets. Name ideas sprouting quickly from each of their mouths. A pit of despair coiled at the bottom of her stomach, but a smile plastered along her face. _I must be happy for the children._

A tap at her shoulder distracted her from her thoughts. As she looked over her shoulder, she met the dark eyes of Theon Greyjoy. His face held a mischievous smirk.

"I thought we should have ended their misery," He spoke. 

Lyarra faced him abruptly. "Their misery?"

"Yes." He cocked his head. "They're motherless and motherless children do not make it long within this world."

A slight gasp left the bastard's mouth. Theon's barbs were never as malicious as his recent comment. Yet, when she met his eyes, they were not mirthful. Instead, the dark pits seemed far away, and he absentmindedly brought a hand to her shoulder. His leather-gloved land was warm compared to the cold wind of the North.

"But perhaps us, motherless children, should stick together."

He used his free arm to procure something from his pocket. A fluffy white pup squirmed in his hand. Stark white fur complemented the black of his leather gloves. The pup's eyes were open and as red as the blood that dripped from Ned Stark's sword.

"Theon..." Lyarra whispered, her pale hands reaching for the small pup. 

The small pup did not make a single sound as she brought it into her arms. Lya could feel her heart bursting as the small pup snuggled closer to her cloak. _A Stark direwolf._

Lyarra could feel the eyes of her siblings on her. As she looked up, she saw Arya's broad smile, Bran's shy smirk, and Robb's joyful grin. When she looked at her eldest sister, blue eyes were narrow, an echo of her Lady Mother.

"Why does the _bastard_ get a direwolf?" Sansa's voice struck like a whip. "She's not a true Stark."

The joyfulness that danced around her heart plummetted at Sansa's words. The black-haired bastard's eyes welled with unshed tears. Yet, to her relief, none of her siblings reckoned their agreement. Instead, little Arya smacked her elder sister on the arm.

"Don't speak of our sister like that!" She shrieked indigently. 

Sansa leveled a glare at the younger girl. "Say what you will, but she is still a Snow and not a Stark."

Arya went to lunge at the elder child, but Robb laid a freckled hand on her shoulder. A sharp shake of his head stilled her actions. Wide grey eyes glared at her brother. Yet she stood still and watched as the red-headed girl gracefully strode to the kennel, her pup still in her arms.

"You're a Stark to me, Lya." Bran gave her a wide-toothed grin. 

Lyarra swallowed her tears and gave her younger brother a watery grin. "Well, that is enough for me."

She kneeled and wrapped her brother in a one-armed hug. Her other arm cuddled her newly found pup to her chest, and the other enveloped her brother. 

"You can't hug without me!" Arya screamed before jumping into the pile with them.

Lyarra quickly became surrounded by the Starklings, excluding Sansa and Rickon. The brood stood in a group hug in the courtyard of Winterfell. The cold winter winds chilling their very bones, but children of winter did not feel the cold. The Old Gods had gifted a boon to these children of winter, and Lya sent out a prayer of thanks.

The Kennel Master quickly ruined the children's moment as he came to assess the new residents of his cages. Every trueborn Stark following him to the kennels to find a suitable one for the wolves. Yet, Lyarra was no trueborn Stark; the kennels did not confine her pup.

Instead, a square fabric embroidered with krakens swaddled the snow pup. Lyarra's rosy lips pulled into a grin, and her pale cheeks were shining pink from the brisk winds. Theon stood next to her, his black cloak billowing in the wind.

"You know he wasn't with the rest of the pups?" Theon spoke.

Lyarra hummed in response. Her ethereal eyes flickered up to the older boy, whose gaze had not left the small wolf.

"He was a few feet away from the rest." Theon brought a gloved hand to rub the back of his neck. "The pup wasn't even calling for its mother. Though, when my gaze lied upon thee, he opened those ungodly eyes." Theon's gaze met her own. "Reminded me of us in a way. Outsiders within Winterfell and suffering alone."

Theon's voice trailed off in the end. The silence enveloped the two quickly, stark against the loudness of Winterfell's people. Lya had never heard Theon so vulnerable. His mischievous tone was gone, and his mirthful gaze was instead introspective. _A kraken amongst wolves._

"Theon, we shall never suffer alone." Lya's soft voice broke the silence. "The Starks shall always house us at the hearth, no matter their Lady Mother's ire. For we are both Starks, not in name, but heart."

As Lya watched Theon's face soften. She knew Robb had not uttered those words to his brother in all but name. _Then I must do it for him. Theon is no Greyjoy, for he is as Stark as I._ Her, Robb, and Theon were siblings in all but blood. Though they both had faults, Lya would not trade them for the world.

"Thank you, Lyarra." Theon's voice was soft, but he quickly narrowed his eyes, and a smirk found its way to his face. "Now that you aren't mushy, I shall be going to meet Ross and her lovely tits."

The older man gave her shoulder a quick pat and the wolf pup a pet before he strode to Winterfell. Lyarra's face blushed a crimson at his vulgar words, and a chuckle escaped her lips from his quick turnaround. _Never trust a Greyjoy to be true to his feelings._ Yet, as he left her, she would have him no other way. _Perhaps less vulgar._

Lya contemplated the small dark-haired boy her Lord Father had dragged to Winterfell all those years ago. His angry voice and aggressive sword-play in the sword-yard. Until moons after his arrival, Robb had finally snuck under his skin. _A talent the red-head did not procure from his Lady Mother._ The two quickly became attached at the hip, and they soon dragged Lya into their schemes. 

Robb's pleas for her not to be fostered away from Winterfell, his blue eyes wet as he hugged her goodbye. Theon's cold indifference, but the kraken emblazoned letters that came by raven each moon begged to differ. Lya could almost see them scrambling to greet her as she came back from White Harbor. _"You're a woman grown, sister."_ Robb had almost cried at not being able to grow together, yet they tried to make up lost time.

Now, the two had gifted her a pup. The little wolf pup was starting to squirm in her cradled arms. His mouth puckered as if hungry, and Lya used a finger to appease him for now.

"Now, little one, let us find you some milk."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow beginning chapters. In the next chapter, things shall start picking up. Anyway, thank you for reading and supporting my story! Have a fantastic day! If you have any questions feel free to ask.


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